


Hole in My Soul

by Potrix



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (for part of the fic at least), Age Regression/De-Aging, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cuddling & Snuggling, De-Aged Tony Stark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending, Kid Tony Stark, M/M, Magic, Magical Accidents, No Underage Sex, Omega Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: Regaining consciousness after cryo is always a slow, gradual process. Bucky’s hearing is usually what comes back to him first, the sounds around him well known by now; the hissing of the cooling valves, the gurgling of the tubes, the muted voices of the scientists and doctors on the other side of the glass, the beeping and humming of the medical equipment, and—music?Once he’s able to open his eyes, minutes later, Bucky is reminded that, even though the situation seems and feels familiar, he’s waking up to something entirely different these days.He isn’t in some dark, underground HYDRA lab, for one, but a hospital room with giant floor to ceiling windows that offer a spectacular view of Wakanda’s uniquely beautiful flora. To prevent unnecessary trauma-related stress, Bucky remembers T’Challa explaining, and it’s definitely working. No one is wearing masks, either, not Bucky, and not any of the doctors. He can see their faces as they work, and when they glance over at him, they smile and wave. Smells are muted inside the cryo tube, but Bucky can make out faint traces of vanilla and orange, not a hint of disinfectant, or piss, or blood, or something even worse in the air.And then there’s the kid.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AislingSiobhan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingSiobhan/gifts).



> My [2016 WinterIron Holiday Exchange](http://winterironholidayexchange.tumblr.com/) gift for [AislingSiobhan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aislingsiobhan).
> 
> Just to make this clear, in case people are worried despite the tags; there is no underage sex (or anything of that kind) in this fic. Everything that happens between Bucky and Tony while Tony is de-aged is strictly platonic. They both know that they're soulmates/bondmates, but kid Tony isn't really aware of the sexual aspect of it, and Bucky isn't a creep/attracted to kid Tony. Obviously. 
> 
> Title inspired by Aerosmith's [Hole In My Soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HaC0s-FP-r4).
> 
> Enjoy!

◦ ∙ there's a hole in my soul  
that's been killing me forever ∙ ◦

Regaining consciousness after cryo is always a slow, gradual process. Bucky’s hearing is usually what comes back to him first, the sounds around him well known by now; the hissing of the cooling valves, the gurgling of the tubes, the muted voices of the scientists and doctors on the other side of the glass, the beeping and humming of the medical equipment, and—music? Something classical, slow and soft. Soothing.

Once he’s able to open his eyes, minutes later, Bucky is reminded that, even though the situation seems and feels familiar, he’s waking up to something entirely different these days. 

He isn’t in some dark, underground HYDRA lab, for one, but a hospital room with giant floor to ceiling windows that offer a spectacular view of Wakanda’s uniquely beautiful flora. To prevent unnecessary trauma-related stress, Bucky remembers T’Challa explaining, and it’s definitely working. No one is wearing masks, either, not Bucky, and not any of the doctors. He can see their faces as they work, and when they glance over at him, they smile and wave. Smells are muted inside the cryo tube, but Bucky can make out faint traces of vanilla and orange, not a hint of disinfectant, or piss, or blood, or something even worse in the air.

And then there’s the kid. He’s pressed up against the tube, big brown eyes fixed on Bucky, his small fingers leaving smudges on the glass. Bucky spots him when his muscles have thawed enough to let him tilt his head to crack his neck, and they both still when their gazes meet, staring at each other until the release mechanism engages, and the tube begins to open. Two doctors hurry over to steady Bucky when he stumbles on his way out, and T’Challa quickly scoops up the kid, settling him on his hip. 

“Sergeant Barnes,” T’Challa greets, following along as Bucky’s led across the room to a bed, and hooked up to a heart monitor. 

While the doctors fuss over Bucky, checking his vitals and reflexes, T’Challa turns on the screen next to the bed. He smiles, apologetic and a little sheepish, when he sees Bucky frowning at the date displayed on it, which is not one of the regularly scheduled check-ups they’d agreed upon.

“Why—” Bucky croaks, but starts coughing halfway through the question, his throat dry and aching. A nurse hands him a cup of water, and he gulps it down gratefully before trying again. “Why ‘m I awake? Did somethin’ happen?”

“Ah,” T’Challa says, and places a hand on the back of the kid’s head, simultaneously indicative and protective. “As it turns out, children and bright, blinking buttons are an unfortunate combination.” The kid, clearly smart enough to know he’s being subtly chastised, hunches his shoulders. T’Challa sighs, and bounces him a little, stroking a hand up and down the kid’s back when he buries his face in the crook of T’Challa’s neck.

“Hey, don’t worry ‘bout it, buddy,” Bucky finds himself saying, almost before he’s made up his mind. He reaches out to, very gently, tug at the kid’s socked foot, and smiles what he hopes is a reassuring smile when the kid shyly peeks down at him. “No harm done. You’ll know better next time, huh?”

The kid nods eagerly, then rests his head against T’Challa’s shoulder, and, after yawning widely, sucks his thumb into his mouth. His eyes, bright and curious, stay on Bucky. 

“Captain Rogers and his team are currently following a lead in, last I heard, Argentina, and were all well and unharmed during the last check-in,” T’Challa continues, bringing up some files on the screen. “Mister Wilson has elected to stay behind due to a healing broken arm from a previous mission.”

Bucky lets out a relieved breath at that, flicking through the files, and skimming what little information about a rogue HYDRA unit the others have managed to gather so far. “Sam been complainin’ much about bein’ grounded?”

“Mister Wilson has been a model patient so far,” T’Challa says, but one corner of his mouth is twitching, teasing at a smile. “But I am sure he will appreciate some more company. This one,” he says, running a hand through the sleepily blinking kid’s hair, “has been in charge of the television since arriving.” 

“Sam watches boring stuff,” the kid mumbles, around his thumb, looking pleased with himself when Bucky barks out a surprised laugh. 

“There have been arguments. Loud ones,” T’Challa says, going for disapproving, but landing somewhere closer to reluctantly amused. The kid grins, smug, clearly picking up on it as well, and happily snuggles in closer against T’Challa’s chest. T’Challa rolls his eyes, but allows it as he continues. “If it is all right with you, Sergeant, we would like to take a blood sample, and run a few test before having you go back into cryostasis, simply as a precaution.”

Bucky shrugs. “Might as well, as long as I’m up anyway.” 

After having some blood drawn, Bucky’s given more water and a shake that tastes terrible but contains, according to the doctor handing it out, all the nutrients Bucky might need after being asleep for several months. Then they guide him through a series of fitness tests, give him an eye and an ear exam, and finally ask him some common knowledge questions to make sure there hasn’t been done any cognitive damage during the freezing, before directing him back over to the bed.

T’Challa is standing next to it, tapping at the screen and absently rolling his shoulders, while the kid is curled up around one of the pillows, fast asleep now. 

“Heavier than he looks, isn’t he?” Bucky asks. When T’Challa raises a questioning eyebrow, he chuckles, and explains, “Five younger sisters. There was always someone wantin’ to be carried ‘round the house.” 

He perches on the edge of the bed, which makes the mattress dip, and prompts the kid to roll over, flinging out a hand in the process. It lands on Bucky’s bare arm, and—

—and there’s heat, radiating from the point of contact, spreading through Bucky’s entire body, up to the tips of his ears, and the down to his toes. His skin is tingling, and there’s a tickling sensation at the back of his mind, a promise of something that could be, an invitation. Bucky’s heart is beating wildly, and his chest feels warm, like it has doubled in size to make room for something else. For someone else. 

Bucky comes back to himself when hands land on his shoulders, giving him a firm shake, and he goes tense all over because they’re wrong, they’re touching him, and they’re the wrong hands. He sucks in a stuttering breath, and opens eyes he can’t remember closing, met with T’Challa’s wary face. 

“Where—” Bucky starts, head whipping around at the sound of the kid’s confused crying. He’s on his feet without even thinking, growling, teeth bared at the nurse carrying the flailing kid out of the room. “What are—”

“Stand down, Sergeant,” T’Challa orders, stepping into Bucky’s line of sight. “You are in Wakanda, the year is 2019. You are safe.” 

Bucky shakes his head, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear it. “I’m not—the programming isn’t—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, and rakes his hand through his hair. “Why the hell did I just soulbond with a kid?”

*** * * * ***

The kid is Tony Stark, and, under normal circumstances, thankfully not actually a kindergartener. But, apparently, Bucky’s soulmate. 

“We have to assume to bond began to form since Mister Stark is, for all intents and purposes, still a man in his forties,” says the doctor T’Challa had called back in after being sure the Winter Soldier wasn’t about to come pay a visit. “Even if he does not look the part at the moment.”

“And,” Bucky says, pinching the bridge of his nose in resignation, “Tony Stark looks like a child at the moment because of magic?” 

The doctor waves one of her hands in what Bucky’s come to recognise as the globally used ‘weird things happen when you surround yourself with super-powered people, just roll with it’ gesture. “That seems to be the case, yes.”

“Thank you, Taziah,” T’Challa says, and the doctor takes it as the dismissal it is, politely inclining her head at the two of them before leaving the room. T’Challa’s expression, when he looks back at Bucky, is tired. “The last few days have been rather eventful.”

“Sounds like it, yeah,” Bucky agrees, and they share a weary smile. “Why, if you don’t mind me askin’, is he here, though? Wouldn’t he be better off with friends, or family? Somewhere I—somewhere we aren’t, Steve an’ me? The others?”

“The only family he has is found. He did not recognise them,” T’Challa says. It makes Bucky feel sick, hitting too close to home, and the fact that it’s his soulmate they’re talking about, his Omega who’s still upset, sleeping fitfully, if the raw edges of their unfinished bond are to be trusted, doesn’t help, either. “And the battle was broadcast live, which—”

“Which means everyone holdin’ a grudge against Iron Man knows now’s the time to strike,” Bucky finishes, cursing under his breath. He closes his eyes, and rubs his fingers over them, then looks back up at T’Challa, and asks, “Does Steve know? That he’s here?”

T’Challa’s face does something complicated, but his tone brooks no argument when he says, “Do not confuse my hospitality for approval of the decisions Captain Rogers has made in regards to the Accords. I have granted him and his team sanctuary in my country because I owe a debt to you, Sergeant Barnes, but you are guests here. You are not here to give orders, or make demands.”

“Good,” Bucky says, and then, at T’Challa’s surprise, elaborates, “Look, to be perfectly honest with you, I’m not sure where I stand on this whole thing. That’s not what I was fightin’ for. I was fightin’ to survive. And Steve, he’s,” he trails off, and grimaces, then sighs. “I love him, but he’s not always the most reasonable fella. ‘Specially when it comes to Stark, from what I’ve seen, for whatever reason. So, you know.” He shrugs, a little awkwardly. “‘M just here to get better eventually. Hopefully.” 

T’Challa studies him closely for a moment, then nods, apparently having made up his mind about something. “Speaking of recovery,” he says, and Bucky’s glad for the change of topic. “You should rest, unless you would still like to go back into cryostasis." He smiles knowingly when Bucky quickly shakes his head. "Let me show you to your room.” 

Sam is making dinner when they get to the guest wing, and immediately ropes Bucky into helping. T’Challa excuses himself when he gets a call from one of his advisors, seeming genuinely bummed about being unable to join them. Bucky’s pretty sure he sees him blush, just a little, when Sam touches his side with a gentle smile, and tells him it’s fine. Sam throws a dishtowel at his face when Bucky waggles his eyebrows at him behind T’Challa’s back. 

They take their plates over to one of the couches, the TV on for background noise while they eat, and talk. Sam tells Bucky about the last few missions they went on, tries to smother him with a pillow when Bucky laughs at him after he admits that he broke his arm by falling out of a grounded jet, and catches him up on how things have progressed between Steve and Stark. They’re still not speaking, and haven’t apologised, but Stark knows where they are, and has sent some equipment and Intel, so Bucky figures they’re on the right track at least. Bucky, in turn, tells Sam about the only thing that’s happened to him in the half year since they’ve last seen each other; soulbonding to Stark. 

“Well, shit,” Sam says, which, Bucky thinks, sums the whole thing up fairly well. “How are you feeling about that?” 

“Weird,” Bucky decides on, after a moment of contemplation. “He’s five years old.”

Sam levels him with a flat look. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” 

Bucky sighs, and tips his head against the back of the couch. “What do you want me to say? I barely know the guy. I killed his parents. He tried to kill me. Steve nearly killed him. ‘S not the best basis for a relationship, is it?” 

They finish their dinner in silence after that, and Sam waves Bucky away when he tries to help with the dishes. “You look like shit, man. Go get some sleep.”

“Slept for six months,” Bucky quips back, but goes because he really is exhausted. 

He stops in front of a door that isn’t his, knowing without a doubt that it’s where Stark is. He can’t smell him, the whole palace has a top notch scent blocking system, but he still knows. After checking that Sam’s not watching him, he presses his palm against the cool metal of the door, then immediately snatches it back, feeling ridiculous, and hurries down the hall to his own room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *arrives nearly a year late, after almost leaving the fandom out of frustration at least a dozen times* 
> 
> Anyway. This is going to be four chapters long now, I think. And I won’t make promises as to when I’ll update again, but I’ll (tentatively) say that it (probably) won’t take another ten months.

The faint creaking when his door is pushed open is enough to wake Bucky. It’s followed by footstep that try but don’t quite manage to be quiet as someone pads across the floor, towards the bed. Bucky’s facing the still mostly dark window, but he turns over when the footsteps stop, somehow not surprised to see Stark.

He’s clever enough to stand just out of arm’s reach, one hand clutching a stuffed bear to his chest, the other rubbing at one tiredly drooping eye. His hair is a wild mess, sticking up in the back where he must have slept on it, and the sleeves of his pyjama top are a little too long, hanging down over his fingers, and making him look even smaller, more delicate, and, frankly, adorable than he already is. 

Bucky doesn’t realise he’s smiling until Stark smiles back, and moves closer, apparently having decided that Bucky isn’t a threat after all. He climbs right up onto the bed, kneeling next to Bucky’s chest, and states, “You’re Bucky Barnes. My bear’s also called Bucky.” He thrusts the bear at Bucky, and sure enough, it’s one of the Bucky Bears Bucky’s been teased about relentlessly ever since they were first released back in ‘43. When he’s satisfied that Bucky’s taken a good look at his namesake, Stark flops down onto his side, facing Bucky. “And I’m Tony.” 

Bucky blinks at Stark—at Tony for a long moment, not sure what to say. Eventually, he settles on a simple, “Hi, Tony.” 

“Hi,” Tony echoes excitedly. Watching Bucky carefully as he does, he reaches out to brush the tips of his fingers over Bucky’s cheek, then presses his entire palm against it, mouth dropping open in an awed O. “Are you my soulmate?”

The non-sequitur startles Bucky, and his first instinct is to push Tony away because—because he’s a child, and he doesn’t know Bucky right now. He doesn’t know what transpired between them, their history, doesn’t know how he feels, or will be feeling about Bucky once he’s back to normal, and remembers everything that happened while he was little. Never mind that Bucky’s the last person a small kid should be around, not after what Bucky’s done, what he still might end up doing if things go wrong. The triggers are still in his head, even if he’s safe here under T’Challa’s watch, even if only a select few people know the actual words, just in case they’re ever needed. 

But, for the same reason, it seems equally cruel to reject Tony. He’s somewhere he doesn’t belong, surrounded by strangers, one of them his soulmate, his Alpha. It makes sense that he’s seeking Bucky out, and a selfish part of Bucky likes it, wants to get to know his soulmate, his Omega, in whatever capacity he can. Offer comfort while he’s allowed, even if Tony might end up resenting him for it later on. 

Bucky must take too long to consider, because Tony’s hands curl into his shirt, holding on tightly, and he looks anxious when Bucky focuses his attention back on him, babbling fast enough that Bucky has trouble keeping up. “Jarvis says this is what happens when you meet your soulmate. You go warm all over, and it feels nice, and then you can feel that the other person is there, inside your head, and in your heart, because your souls belong together forever. So you must be my soulmate.” He pauses, and scrunches up his nose, then corrects, “Old Tony’s soulmate. The Tony from here. Right?” 

“Old Tony?” Bucky asks. He fights with himself for a moment, then puts his hand on Tony’s back, feeling relieved yet simultaneously guilty when Tony pushes into the contact with a happy little hum. 

“Yes,” Tony says, “Old Tony, who lives here. In the future.” 

“You think you’re in the future?”

Tony huffs, affronted. “I don’t think, I know. There’s newspapers and magazines everywhere. I can read. It’s 2019.” 

Bucky makes a mental note to make sure Tony doesn’t accidentally see something he shouldn’t, if he hasn’t already. Which, considering this is Anthony Stark they’re talking about, and if he’s anything like Howard when Bucky knew him, he most definitely already has. 

“So,” Tony asks, tugging impatiently at Bucky’s shirt, “are you? Am I right?” 

Briefly, Bucky considers lying to make things easier, but he isn’t actually sure it would. “We are,” he says truthfully, but adds, “Though we don’t really know each other.”

“Well, why not?” Tony demands, and Bucky’s almost certain he’d cross his arms over his chest if he wasn’t lying down at the moment. 

“We didn’t get off to a great start,” Bucky hedges, and sighs when Tony purses his lips into a pout, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “We, uh. We had a fight.” 

“Oh,” Tony says. “Did we apologise? If we’re sorry and apologise, then we can forgive each other, and things will be okay again.” He pins Bucky with a look that’s disturbingly scrutinising for someone so young. “Are you sorry?”

“Yes,” Bucky says immediately, honestly, barely able to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m so fuck—very sorry. About all of it. About everythin’ I did, everythin’ that happened. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Another smile blooms on Tony’s face, and he says, very seriously, “That’s okay, then.” He shuffles closer until he’s snuggled up against Bucky, the Bucky Bear squished between them, the cold tip of his nose pressed against Bucky’s throat. He slings one arm and one leg over Bucky’s chest as far as his short limbs allow, wiggling around before settling with a quiet sigh. “Goodnight, Bucky.” 

“G’night, Tony,” Bucky says back automatically, before he fully realises that Tony intends to stay right where is. 

Unsure about what to do, Bucky waits for—for something, but all that happens is Tony drifting off, his breathing slowly evening out into warm, damp little puffs against Bucky’s skin. Once he’s sure Tony’s asleep, Bucky fumbles for the blankets bunched up at the foot of the bed, and tucks them snugly around them both. He puts his hand back on Tony’s back, and turns his head just enough to push his nose into Tony’s hair, breathing him in. Tony’s unpresented, too young for a proper Omega scent, but he smells fresh and warm, like a day spent playing outside in the sun. Happy and content. 

Bucky doesn’t notice he’s dozing off until his door opens again some time later. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know who it is. “Ever heard ‘bout knockin’?” 

“Breakfast’s almost ready,” Sam says cheerfully, completely ignoring Bucky’s grumbling. Then, grin audible in his voice, he adds, “You’re in charge of getting the kid up. Have fun!”

Bucky grunts, and blindly flips Sam off when Sam laughs at him on his way out. It takes him another five minutes, but eventually Bucky forces himself to peel his eyes open, blinking against the early morning sunshine. He sits up, yawning, which earns him a disgruntled whine from Tony when the movement makes the blanket slips down his back. 

“Not a mornin’ person, huh?” Bucky asks, and laughs softly when Tony whines again, and shuffles around until he can bury his face in Bucky’s pillow. 

Leaving Tony to doze some more, Bucky gets up to use the bathroom, and try—and mostly fail—to pull his hair into a semi-neat bun like Nat showed him. When he gets back, Tony is curled around his bear, mouth open, huffing out quiet little snores with each breath. Bucky ignores the way his heart goes all fluttery at the sight, and perches on the edge of the bed instead, reaching out to stroke Tony’s hair. “Sam’s waitin’ for us.”

Tony groans, but does flop onto his back, scowling grumpily, and demands, “Up.” 

Then, when Bucky just looks at him, uncomprehending, he holds out his arms, making grabby hands at Bucky. “Bucky, up.” 

“Okay,” Bucky chuckles, standing. “C’mon, lazy.” 

It takes a bit of maneuvering, with Bucky being an arm short, and Tony still mostly asleep, but Bucky eventually gets Tony settled on his hip. Tony nudges his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck, snuffling around for a moment before letting out a contented sigh. Bucky allows himself to scent Tony back, rubs the tip of his nose against his temple, and then rests his cheek against the top of Tony’s head for a moment. 

Tony is making a noise under his breath as Bucky carries him out of the room, not quite a purr just yet—he’s too young for that—but definitely a happy Omega sound. Bucky preens, can’t really help it, and doesn’t hold back the responding, soothing croon that starts up in his chest. 

Sam raises a knowing eyebrow at Bucky when they enter the kitchen, but his eyes keep flitting to where T’Challa’s reading at the table, going all soft and fond, so he’s got no room to talk, as far as Bucky’s concerned. Bucky, in a show of maturity, sticks his tongue out at him, and plops down in one of the free chairs.

He nods at T’Challa over Tony’s head. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning. You slept well, I hope?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Bucky tries to shift Tony so he’s facing forward, but Tony grunts, and tightens the arm he has around Bucky’s neck. Bucky winces, and shoots T’Challa an apologetic look. “Sorry.” 

T’Challa smiles, clearly unbothered. He leans around the table to tug at Tony’s foot, and says something in Wakandan that makes Tony giggle into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky firmly tells himself that he’s not jealous. Because that would be really, really dumb. Instead, he smirks at Sam when he deposits a bowl of fruit on table, and presses an absent kiss to the side of T’Challa’s head. Sam rolls his eyes at Bucky, while T’Challa just watches, definitely amused but hiding it pretty well. 

Tony refuses to sit in his own chair during breakfast, but he does finally turn around so he can reach his plate. He insists on feeding Bucky little pieces of everything, and beams every time Bucky accepts a bite. Sam doesn’t even pretend that he’s not finding the situation hilarious, and Bucky only stops kicking him under the table after he accidentally jostles Tony, and Tony pouts up at him with impossibly wide, shining eyes. 

Sam makes a whipping motion, which would annoy Bucky if Sam didn’t jump up, and nearly fall over himself a moment later to refill T’Challa’s cup of coffee. Bucky hides a grin in Tony’s hair, then blows a raspberry on Tony’s cheek when Tony turns around to look up at him in question, making Tony shriek and laugh. 

They’re cleaning up—Sam and T’Challa are taking care of the dishes, while Bucky’s at the sink with Tony, helping him wash his hands—when there’s a knock at the suite’s main door. T’Challa calls for whoever it is to come in, nodding at the woman when she steps inside, but Tony goes suddenly tense in Bucky’s hold, baring his teeth in a silent warning. Taken aback, Bucky glances at Sam for help, but Sam shakes his head, and mouths, “Later.” 

For the rest of the morning, Tony stays close to Bucky, always within touching distance. Bucky’s confused, mainly, and also somewhat worried, but he does his best to not let Tony sense too much of it while they play, read, watch TV, and, on Tony’s insistence, spend an hour doing school work, because Howard would be angry if he fell behind while he was in the future. 

When Tony starts yawning after lunch, Bucky puts him down for a nap. Tony fusses, but he’s obviously tired, and agrees to the whole thing on the condition that it happen in Bucky’s bed, and that Bucky lie down with him until he falls asleep. They even shake on it. 

“So,” Bucky says as he joins Sam on the balcony, once Tony’s tucked away in bed. “What was that all ‘bout, earlier?”

Sam sighs, and rubs a hand over his head. “Tony’s has some, uh, issues. With Alphas.”

“But.” Bucky leans on the railing, frowning. “He seems to like you just fine? An’ he nearly threw a tantrum when I went to take piss without him.”

“Man, you’re his soulemate,” Sam points out dryly, which; fair enough. “And it took weeks for him to start trusting me. T’Challa feeling comfortable around me helped a lot in that regard, I think.” 

“Weeks?” Bucky asks, baffled. “How long has he been here? Like this?” 

Sam shrugs. “A month and a half, around that. We’ve got people here and back in the States working on it, but since no one has a real idea what’s going on,” he trails off, pulling a face. 

“Well. Shit,” Bucky says, and Sam hums in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: More Bucky guilt. All the hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/).


End file.
